In defence of funny women | Little White Lies

Long Read

In defence of fun­ny women

18 May 2018

Words by Lydia Figes

Young woman holding a microphone on stage, wearing a plaid dress and looking pensive.
Young woman holding a microphone on stage, wearing a plaid dress and looking pensive.
Female-dri­ven come­dies such as The Mar­vel­lous Mrs Maisel and Fun­ny Cow are chal­leng­ing archa­ic notions about women on screen.

Ten years ago, Christo­pher Hitchens pub­lished an arti­cle in Van­i­ty Fair enti­tled Why Women Aren’t Fun­ny’. Backed by sci­en­tif­ic stud­ies from Stan­ford Uni­ver­si­ty of Med­i­cine, Hitchens rein­forced the stereo­type that women aren’t as fun­ny as men, his main argu­ment being that, women have no cor­re­spond­ing need to appeal to men in this way. They already appeal to men, if you catch my drift.”

The idea that women can’t be fun­ny has per­sist­ed through­out his­to­ry, going back to Medieval times when a woman’s laugh­ter was regard­ed as a sign of immoral­i­ty. It extend­ed into the 18th and 19th cen­turies, when com­e­dy in the works of female nov­el­ists was triv­i­alised for only refer­ring to domes­tic life. In 1970, the Eng­lish author Regi­nald Blythe said, Women not only have no humour in them­selves, but are the cause of its extinc­tion in others.”

Recent trends in crit­i­cal­ly-acclaimed tele­vi­sion and cin­e­ma sug­gest oth­er­wise. From the charis­mat­ic Miri­am Midge” Maisel (Rachel Bros­na­han) in Amy Sherman-Palladino’s The Mar­vel­lous Mrs Maisel, a peri­od com­e­dy set in 1950s New York, to Max­ine Peake in the inde­pen­dent UK pro­duc­tion Fun­ny Cow, refresh­ing­ly sharp-wit­ted female pro­tag­o­nists are defy­ing Hitchens’ unabashed misog­y­ny. The recent focus on the female stand up come­di­an – an unprece­dent­ed lead role for women – reflects and cel­e­brates the increas­ing pres­ence of women in com­e­dy today.

Sherman-Palladino’s mar­vel begins with Miri­am Midge” Maisel speak­ing on her wed­ding day to a crowd of con­ser­v­a­tive Jew­ish Upper West Siders: who gives a toast at her own wed­ding?” Midge unapolo­get­i­cal­ly breaks tra­di­tion. Her speech fore­shad­ows her future career as a stand-up com­ic, as well as her divorce a few years lat­er (both being entire­ly unac­cept­able for women in the 1950s). Unaware of trou­bled times ahead, Midge charms the crowd by rem­i­nisc­ing about the first encounter with her hus­band Joel, until devi­ous­ly men­tion­ing that the egg roll appe­tis­ers weren’t Kosher.

The Mar­vel­lous Mrs Maisel is loose­ly inspired by the life of Amer­i­can-Jew­ish come­di­an Joan Rivers, known for her out­ra­geous and unfil­tered stand-up. Just like Midge, who is left in an unfor­tu­nate sit­u­a­tion when Joel leaves her and the two kids for his sec­re­tary Pen­ny Pan’, Rivers was mar­ried, divorced, and unem­ployed in her late 20s before launch­ing her career as a stand-up com­ic. After ditch­ing the role of house­wife, she appeared in off-Broad­way plays with, among oth­ers, Bar­bara Streisand in the late 1950s. The com­ic and satirist Lenny Bruce, a huge inspi­ra­tion to Rivers, fea­tures as him­self in The Mar­vel­lous Mrs Maisel, (Luke Kirk­by). Bruce appears as a reg­u­lar at the under­ground Gaslight Café in Green­wich Vil­lage, where Midge makes her debut on the com­e­dy stage.

The cin­e­matog­ra­phy of The Mar­vel­lous Mrs Maisel harks back to the gold­en age of cin­e­ma, hint­ing at a nos­tal­gia for a seem­ing­ly whim­si­cal post­war New York. It is a rose-tint­ed view of his­to­ry, act­ing as a veil that thin­ly masks the harsh patri­archy that impacts Midge’s fam­i­ly, mar­riage and pro­fes­sion­al life. Despite the tra­di­tion­al­ism of her fam­i­ly and in-laws, we can’t help but adore the Maisel fam­i­ly for their hilar­i­ous idio­syn­crasies, includ­ing attempts to win over the neigh­bour­hood Rab­bi in time for Yom Kip­pur, to vis­it­ing the local for­tune-teller, who becomes the go-to fam­i­ly therapist.

In a sim­i­lar vein to Sherman-Palladino’s mar­vel, Adri­an Shergold’s Fun­ny Cow, also presents the hypo­thet­i­cal expe­ri­ence of a woman find­ing suc­cess as a stand-up come­di­an in world full of prej­u­dice and male dom­i­nance. The lead char­ac­ter is based on the Sheffield-born female come­di­an Mar­ti Caine, who worked on the York­shire club cir­cuit as a stand-up and cabaret dancer in the 1970s.

Unlike The Mar­vel­lous Mrs Maisel, which shows us the colour­ful, ritzy inte­ri­or world of a high-class New York fam­i­ly, Fun­ny Cow presents a dis­ad­van­taged young woman in a pover­ty-strick­en, envi­ron­ment in North­ern Eng­land dur­ing years of aus­ter­i­ty under Edward Heath and Mar­garet Thatch­er. The pro­tag­o­nist, whose real name we nev­er learn, thrives despite an abu­sive child­hood and marriage.

Both her father (Stephen Gra­ham) and hus­band (played by writer Tony Pitts) rou­tine­ly beat her in irra­tional fits of para­noia and anger, usu­al­ly when she refus­es to obey orders, or under­mines their sense of male suprema­cy in the domes­tic sphere. As the deroga­to­ry title sug­gests, she will only ever be known as that fun­ny cow’; the name reflects the inevitable lim­i­ta­tions of her suc­cess; as a female stand-up liv­ing in a man’s world.

A woman in a red coat and scarf, with curly hair, stands with her arms crossed, conversing with a man.

Through­out the film we wit­ness flash­backs to a pre-ado­les­cent Fun­ny Calf in the bleak, indus­tri­al cityscape of Rother­ham. These shots are rem­i­nis­cent of the pho­to­jour­nal­ist Ray­mond Depardon’s pho­tographs of chil­dren play­ing in Glas­gow dur­ing 1980s. Hope­ful flash­es of colour are set against a bleak indus­tri­al back­drop. The film inge­nious­ly brings togeth­er art house cin­e­matog­ra­phy with the vul­gar­i­ty of Sat­ur­day night pub gags. Fun­ny Cow rep­re­sents the British under­class; sur­viv­ing through the dai­ly grind, grit and grime of pover­ty. Such life con­di­tions prove to break down fam­i­lies through the form of mis­ery and alco­holism, show­ing how tox­ic male aggres­sion is a con­se­quence of such hardship.

Midge Maisel and Fun­ny Cow are women from two very dif­fer­ent worlds. While Midge is priv­i­leged, wealthy, edu­cat­ed and a moth­er of two; Fun­ny Cow is impov­er­ished, under-edu­cat­ed and abused. She refus­es to have chil­dren with her sec­ond love inter­est Angus (Pad­dy Con­si­dine). In both cas­es we take immense plea­sure at watch­ing them hurl back abuse at their reproach­ful male audi­ences. Women aren’t fun­ny!” Shouts a male from the audi­ence in a down­town New York com­e­dy bar, inter­rupt­ing Midge’s act. She responds: Your wife must have a sense of humour, she’s seen you naked. What can I say, all the good men are tak­en ladies…”

What is refresh­ing about the char­ac­ters of both Midge and Fun­ny Cow is their lim­it­ed patience towards their male coun­ter­parts. They are defi­ant and don’t strive to stroke male egos. If they do on occa­sion, it is only as strate­gic sur­vival mech­a­nism, which is lat­er used to their advan­tage. The humil­i­a­tion of arro­gant men, adul­ter­ous hus­bands and the sub­ver­sion of overt­ly patri­ar­chal com­mu­ni­ties becomes the pre­rog­a­tive of both Midge and Fun­ny Cow, since it is their pro­fes­sion. Such behav­iour by these qua­si-fic­tion­al com­ic hero­ines quash­es Hitchens’ asser­tions that men only want women as an audi­ence, not as rivals.

Under­ly­ing Hitchens’ essay is an unease, an anx­i­ety on behalf of all fun­ny men, who know that humour is a weapon, and is more pow­er­ful than denun­ci­a­tion. To cel­e­brate fun­ny women is to also accept that women have a degree of influ­ence and con­trol over men that isn’t pure­ly sex­u­al. So long as a woman’s pow­er is only ren­dered through phys­i­cal attrac­tion, the mere utter­ance that a woman isn’t pret­ty” imme­di­ate­ly strips away her agency. As the fem­i­nist Philoso­pher Frances Gray once said: Laugh­ter, like nuclear ener­gy, has no opin­ions, pos­i­tive or neg­a­tive, about the sta­tus quo. What it does have, like nuclear ener­gy, is pow­er, to which we can relate in a num­ber of ways.” Equal­ly, the cel­e­brat­ed author Mar­garet Atwood once said Men are afraid that women will laugh at them. Women are afraid that men will kill them.”

Atwood’s state­ment that hints at the lethal con­fla­tion between gen­der, humour and pow­er is appar­ent in Fun­ny Cow. Her charm, spir­it and abil­i­ty to make oth­ers laugh threat­ens her hus­band. You’ll nev­er beat me”, are his words after she threat­ens to leave the house, to audi­tion as a stand-up come­di­an at a local tal­ent show. She bombs the audi­tion, and runs home cry­ing in shame, only to be con­front­ed by her abu­sive part­ner, who, in a pre­de­ter­mined revenge plan, breaks her nose flat. Yet by the end of Fun­ny Cow, the clos­est thing that she has to a men­tor, (and also a rival), the male com­ic Lenny (Alun Arm­strong), takes his own life, when real­is­ing that Fun­ny Cow, a woman, is far more tal­ent­ed than he will ever be.

So yes, we now have more fic­tion­al female come­di­ans appear­ing in main­stream cul­ture. But what’ss the catch? While the title of Fun­ny Cow sug­gests that the film will have you bent over in stitch­es, the audi­ence is rarely brought to laugh­ter. We watch an unfold­ing tragedy, with no relief of a hap­py end­ing, no delayed punch­line. The over­ar­ch­ing mes­sage is that suc­cess comes at a price, espe­cial­ly if you are female.

The irony should be point­ed out, that where­as Fun­ny Cow was writ­ten and direct­ed by two men, The Mar­vel­lous Mrs Maisel was writ­ten and direct­ed by one woman, Amy Sher­man-Pal­ladi­no, the writer and cre­ator of Gilmore Girls. The com­e­dy in The Mar­vel­lous Mrs Maisel is gen­uine­ly hys­ter­i­cal, orig­i­nal and unique­ly female. Unfor­tu­nate­ly Peake’s char­ac­ter in Fun­ny Cow resorts to mak­ing racist and misog­y­nis­tic gags at the all-men’s work­ing club to make a name for her­self. This is per­haps a reminder of how much humour has evolved since the 1970s, or an indi­ca­tor that male screen­writ­ers should let women write their own com­e­dy. On the oth­er hand, Fun­ny Cow pri­mar­i­ly acts as a pow­er­ful com­men­tary about the British club cir­cuit in the 1970s, rather than aim­ing to make you laugh or lift your spirit.

While cin­e­ma and tele­vi­sion are increas­ing­ly diver­si­fy­ing and pro­mot­ing lead female roles, the indus­try still accom­mo­dates for male writ­ers and direc­tors to nar­rate the lives of tal­ent­ed and note­wor­thy women. In 2017, it was esti­mat­ed that only 24 per cent of the pro­tag­o­nists in all new­ly-released films were female, and that women direc­tors, writ­ers, pro­duc­ers and edi­tors com­prised of only 18 per cent of the top-gross­ing films. The same sur­vey showed that in tele­vi­sion, women account­ed for only 28 per cent of all cre­ators, direc­tors, writ­ers, pro­duc­ers, as well as edi­tors and direc­tors of pho­tog­ra­phy. There is noth­ing fun­ny about the fact we are still far from real equality.

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